


We’ve Been Slaves to this Love from the Moment We Touched

by winemomhux



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winemomhux/pseuds/winemomhux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom's naivety, innocence, and trustfulness remind Hal of a certain chapter in his life he wishes he could leave behind. Driven by the outcome of his past, Hal is determined to strive for a better ending. The only problem is, does he really deserve another chance? [Ham]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Elviira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still feeling guilty about his past, Hal recalls a very memorable young woman he once encountered.

Prologue: Elviira 

Distractions. Anything could be a distraction for a normal human, but nothing, not even the fervent click of her nails at the edges of her fingernails, was enough to mask the redolent pulsing of her veins beneath her skin and the serene beating of her heart. The succulent scent of her blood coursed under her skin, pale and tight, that did a terrible job at protecting the light green-blue passages of the warm, flowing nectar that could so easily be released, that could so easily pour into his mouth, that could so easily drip down his chin as it filled him with an angelic bliss. This girl, this carrier of his drug, could provide him with the closest feeling he could ever aspire to achieve that may remotely resemble an experience of holiness in his self-destructive, demonic life. No, there was no distraction strong enough to even hope to retrieve him from this state of mind - if he could just get a centimeter closer he could silence his screaming muscles.

"Hal, you're awfully pale, should I send for a nurs- Oh, I suppose that wouldn't do you much of a favour, would it?" Elviira's concern rushed through Hal's body as he came to realise how painstakingly close his nose had been to the underside of her sharply pointed jaw. How close he'd been to indulging in his not-so-guilty pleasure.

"I fed you last night."

This girl, Elviira, had been regarded, momentarily in Hal's mind, as nothing greater than an elegant packaging for such a fine delicacy. In more secure moments of composure, Elviira was his friend, his support, his protector within this unfit world, and there was nothing within this miserable prison that frightened him more dearly than how rapidly he could go from holding her on the highest pedestal, to reducing her his next meal.

Hal had known Elviira for nearly five years, since he'd traveled up north in his hopes to isolate himself from a group of rather enraged Frenchmen after he'd fed off their village far too long for their liking. Later in the winter of 1792, Hal had happened to her small village in search of a meal to break his nearly year long fast. A dreadful sight had set itself in front of this girl's eyes. A frail, frantic Hal had in desperate measures picked a sick, elderly women from her home in the middle of the night to be the poor soul upon which he could revive himself mentally and physically, of course, the ill were never his first choice as they never taste as good as the healthy ones, but he had been in no shape to properly hunt.

Elviira's grandmother, as it was later revealed to Hal, was this old woman, but instead of screaming, or crying, or killing Hal as she easily could have with her hunting weapons, she stood in the snow, wrapped tightly in a light brown fur, and watched. It wasn't until after Hal had drained the elderly woman dry that Elviira's presence was known to him, and being the sitting duck she looked like she could have been, Hal gave thought to continuing his meal and turning it into a full out feast, but her obvious lack of fear was enough to snag Hal's curiosity. Though Elviira never directly spoke of why exactly she didn't run screaming that night, Hal formed the conclusion that her grandmother had wanted to die for long enough that Elviira had seen his actions as an answer to a prayer.

For five years Elviira shielded Hal from the public while simultaneously luring unsuspecting victims into the woods at night for him to feed on once a week, then she would easily make the villagers believe the increasing bear population was to blame. This puzzled Hal even more, but he wasn't one to question or complain such unusual hospitality.

In return, Hal did as Elviira asked of him and posed as her cousin and kept away any men who attempted to pursue her for her hand in marriage.

There were many things that Hal wondered about this mysterious girl; what her upturned nose, her topaz eyes with heavy eyelashes, and her high cheekbones could be hiding, but she wasn't one to give out answers, which was what Hal really liked about her. He didn't ask, she didn't tell. The concept worked both ways. In fact, very few words were spoken between the two. All she knew about Hal was that he was a vampire that needed blood, and that was simply because she'd witnessed it with her own eyes. And Hal, he knew - well - nothing about this little Elviira. What Hal knew was that he needed some sort of distraction, or his puzzle of a being would be gone as suddenly as she'd been noticed by him.

Nearly five years in each other's company and sitting alone, together in a horse carriage was still a harrowing experience for Hal to sit through. The nail scratching and biting, the foot tapping, the hair twirling, they were all her attempts at creating a subterfuge for Hal's senses to follow, to pull him away from the concentration on her pounding blood stream. Little did she know, they never worked. The only thing keeping the monster sitting across from her from ripping her pretty little neck open was his own self-control, and, because they hardly spoke. she had no idea how untested these self-control skills really were.

For another year, Elviira held host to the animal living in the shell of a man, and she continued to hold up the supply of food for Hal to remain stable, even stable enough to not turn her into a cold-cut when she'd accidentally cut her finger or scrape her elbow. With this knowledge she felt safe in his company.

Eventually, and rightfully so, the villagers caught on to Hal, and after five long years, they refused to swallow the repeated stories of animal attacks within the woods. Just as Elviira had been covering for Hal, Hal ascertained that Elviira was not connected to the crimes in any way, shape, or form.

Hal was dragged, alone, to the king. He was chained heavily around the ankles, wrists, and neck as he was forced to kneel before the bloated man draped in deep purples and covered in all assortments of golden rings.

"Do I look like a fool?" the deep, booming voice of the king echoed, though Hal could sense the fear in his voice.

"Honestly, I don't believe I can truthfully say I have seen any fool as gaudy as you are, sire " Hal smirked as he slowly lifted his head. "You're awfully meretricious, trying to make up for something?"

During the king's florid rage, Hal was able to twist himself free and swing out of the throne room. He considered the possibility of feeding on the king, but the amount of spectators was too great, not even he could fight his way out of that mass of people. And so he simply ran from the room and hid in the shadows. He understood very well he could no longer stay in the village, and he began to head towards Elviira's home, at first he believed himself to be heading there to bring her with him away from this town, that they'd simple assume her to be dead, but he didn't take long to come to terms with what he was really going to do.

"Hal, you need to leave, they'll stake you for this for sure," Elviira said, quickly handing him his bag that she'd already packed for him. "Get out of here now."

Hal stared down at the girl, she couldn't be more that 26-years-old, her wide, topaz, doe eyes so trusting and innocent. How many times had she slept in the same room or carriage as the man before her, how many times had she had to bandage herself before him, how much had she trusted him that she felt so safe when she was with him in her home?

"Hal, don't just stand there! Go!" Her voice grew louder and rose an octave as she tried to give him a push out of her doorway, but he simply gave her a smirk.

"Hal!"

Hal's mouth twisted into a smirk of pure evil, one that she never thought he could possibly direct toward her. He had no idea how far he was from any other civilization, he had no idea how long it would take him to find another warm body standing right in front of him. By the time Elviira's mind processed what was now inevitable, it was too late. She looked to him, not in fear, but in pure disbelief and betrayal.

"I trusted you."

"And that was your first mistake."

She didn't even let out a scream as Hal's eyes glazed in black and his teeth dug hungrily into her soft flesh. The blood he'd smelt too many times before was now sliding down his throat with every pulse and the girl in his arms grew limper and limper. She hung motionless in his arms as he paused after his feeding and looked at what he'd done to the girl that would have taken any punishment in the world to help him escape this town. He placed her in the snow gently, deep red staining her pale skin and the pure snow as he slowly wrapped her now cold body in the light brown fur she'd worn when they had first met.

"You shouldn't have trusted me," he whispered. "no one should."


	2. Chapter 1: The Mirror Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal, now living in his new home, tries to leave the past in the past in an attempt to keep it from repetition.

Chapter One: The Mirror Image

All before. He’d seen this all before. The sincere smile, the soft eyes, the libertine voice that spoke without fear, it was all a bad nightmare to Hal. Throughout the years he’d met, and subsequently killed, countless amounts of multiple species that had invested their utmost faith in Hal’s ability to restrain his “condition”, at least from themselves. Each time, in a swift progression (though the interim varied with each instance), he had managed to either kill them or transform them into the same vacuous living creature as Hal Yorke, in which case they might as well have been killed. By this time they were all the same in Hal’s mind, or so he trained himself to believe. Though he still would see their faces and hear their voices in his mind, he taught himself to control them, as each casualty became part of this “condition”, and just as civilians killed in a war are labelled as collateral damage, these haunting images were what he liked to call his personal motivation. If this cleanse was truly going to work for once and for all, he would have to make sure his past was only his prologue. 

But now he felt threatened. He felt exposed. He felt his two worlds, past and prologue, were colliding. 

The sincere smile, the soft eyes, the libertine voice, all the elements of trust and hope, and, above all, innocence. Traits Hal himself had lost long ago to this condition of his own being. 

“I’m clean now,” he’d told himself over and over again since his arrival in this new environment that he would now have to get used to calling home. “I haven’t killed for blood in almost sixty years. This time... this time will be different.” 

Shaking hands and a cold sweat came over Hal’s body as he pushed himself off the freshly made bed and he began to pace his room. 

Five deep breaths.  
Hands still.  
Turn to the window.  
One, two, three.  
Back towards the door.  
Repeat. 

Without deviating from his consistency, Hal closed his eyes and focused, pausing at the window after twenty of these cycles, standing in a staid silence, echoing a marble statue in his place before the window.

Three, two, one. 

He opened his eyes, shaking the images in his mind away, and briskly moved over to his table, reaching for the dominos Leo had given him. He flipped on the radio and slowly, one by one, he began placing the familiar dominos in their familiar pattern. 

Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine.

Sixty-two, sixty-one, sixty. 

As he placed the last domino back into the place in the box, the smooth surface of the small block sent a shiver up his arm. In a jolt he pulled his hand back and in the flash behind his eyelids, a pair of topaz coloured eyes seemed to burn themselves into his own. 

Hal pressed his palms into the corners of his eyes in an attempt to clear the mixture of hope and confusion etched and moulded into his sight. He gave a disgruntled hiss as if the image pained him physically, pushed himself from his table, knocking his case of dominos to the floor in the process, and stumbled towards the door. White-knuckled, his hand gripped at the door knob to stabilize himself, but he again lost his footing when the handle unexpectedly turned and the door pushed open. 

“Oi, sorry mate. ‘Ey, are ya feelin’ all right?” 

Head spinning, Hal looked up, his eyes wide open as he gave a silent gasp. Just like that, he felt as stable as ever, the vestige of the eyes in his suddenly clear vision perfectly matched the eyes that stared back at him now. The topaz faded, and slowly transitioned into a soft brown.


	3. Chapter 2: Tom McNair

Chapter 2: Tom McNair 

The concerned tone flooded through Hal’s ears. They’d hardly known each other for more than a couple days but the voice was such a distinct match that Hal could not say for certain that it was, in fact, Tom’s voice or just his guilty mind playing tricks on him once again. His body betrayed his desire to move, his legs suddenly giving the unearthly sensation of being cast in lead. 

“Leave,” Hal finally managed to force from his dry lips, his voice hoarse with a weak attempt at incorporating an undertone of threat. “Please.” 

After a moment of silence, Hal followed the desperate grasp at a threatening tone with a blank stare, his eyes frozen on the young man in front of him as he discreetly wiped his brow with his handkerchief. Finally, he regained his composure and tucked his handkerchief away swiftly, turning his back to Tom, his eyes glancing quickly to the box of dominoes that now lay on the floor, thankfully still tucked safely stowed, orderly, within their package. 

“I’m not asking,” he said coldly and gave a quick glance over his shoulder towards the boy still standing at his door and in a much softer tone he followed up with, “I require full concentration and that entails my being alone with my thoughts so unless you’ve got news of the utmost importance I simply must know right at this moment, please, leave me to my thoughts. Your very smell is already going to be a lingering around in here, causing an interminable distraction to my routine. I’ll have to deal with it everywhere else, I’d appreciate being able to recuperate in my room when it will, undoubtedly, become unbearable.” 

“Oh an’ you just smell like a basket of daisies?” Tom asked plainly, watching Hal’s every move with those same eyes Hal wished would just disappear. 

Another silence fell over the two as they momentarily searched each other’s faces for any signs of weakness or uneasiness. Neither came. 

“Fine ‘en, I was just goin’ to ask if you’d like to come pick up some food for Eve while Annie’s actually takin’ care of ‘er, but I’ll leave ya to your blood sucker rituals.” 

As Tom turned to leave the room, Hal watched until the door was closed again. He sat on his bed and exhaled deeply. There was something different about those eyes, and he knew it now. The trust wasn’t unconditional. If Hal let Tom down, he wouldn’t blindly let it pass over. The boy trusted easily, from what Hal could tell his whole life was based on the ability to trust, but with the trust came a strong sense honour. Hal wasn’t overly familiar with this code of honour, but he figured it wouldn’t be difficult to navigate his way into, whether it be truthfully or not. 

At the same time, Hal wasn’t sure why he even wanted to gain entrance to Tom’s circle of trust and honour. It wasn’t exactly elite, Hal really didn’t have to prove anything, he just needed to make sure not to rip his throat out. But one thing that was rare about Tom McNair that even Hal could admire was that he was genuine. Much more than Hal himself had ever been. This admiration was almost Hal grasping at straws, hoping that perhaps some of this honesty and genuine nature would be passed to him. It also intrigued Hal, which was what he told himself was the reason he had felt so keen on defending Tom in the shop when they went to buy Leo’s ring. What happened afterwards was a little harder to explain. 

Through the maelstrom of confusion and changes Hal felt he was plunging into head first, there was one thing he was thankful for, the clear-headed thought the sobriety was now able to grant him. In the beginning, the sobriety was the chaos, but armed with all the tools Leo had used to help him, after all this time it was paying off. The confusion meant that he could process, he could think about things other than blood, enough to be preoccupied with other, more human problems, such as fear of rejection and/or letting down a potential new friend. He wasn’t free of the dagger hanging over his head, the bloodlust always posed a threat and was majority of the reason he held such fears, but considering his “condition”, this was the best he’d had it in nearly 500 years.

In reality, Hal knew exactly why he valued Tom’s presence so much, he knew exactly why he wanted to be able to be trusted by Tom, he knew exactly why he wanted to preserve such an... innocent young man and his ideals. He’d been faced with all these traits before, and he had failed her. He had become everything she had trusted him not to be around her. He could still feel her cold, heavy body leaning against his, he could feel the warm blood smear over his face and the crushing feeling of guilt, he mechanically began rubbing at his face. 

Ashamed, he got to his feet again and ran to the bathroom, if he could see his reflection it would have been the black-eyed monster, face and hands covered in blood, that he felt he was, and not the sweaty, shaking mess he truly appeared to be. He scrubbed violently at his hands and face until his skin was raw before he threw his soap down in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair.

This time would be different, Hal was insistent on this. He wouldn’t allow himself to ruin Tom like he’d ruined Elviira. This time he realised how much Tom McNair actually meant to him.


End file.
